Tod zu sein ist komisch
by Gigantisch Romantisch
Summary: What happens to Magda after the ball?


When the coffin hit the bottom of the stairs, Magda lay between the splintered wood as motionless as the corpse she should have been. Despite her stillness, her brain was working furiously.

It wasn't that she loved Joine. She didn't even really like him. He was greasy and unrefined and pushy, in death even moreso than in life. The only goal was getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. It surprised her that she had willingly given it, unable to resist the raw dominance he displayed. As much as she disliked him, she could see her spending the rest of her life with him. Or at least a decent portion of it.

Music dribbled down into the lowest basement where they were. Something was afoot. Ah yes, the ball. The ball they weren't invited to. Just as well, it wasn't like she was going to enjoy being around all those posh people who hadn't done a day's worth of honest work in their entire lives.

She gave a snort of contempt and finally stirred, poking Chagal in the ribs.

He didn't respond.

"Come on, Chagal. Enough with the slumbering, the sun has set long ago." She got up and brushed the broken pieces of wood from her underdress, then looked down on Chagal's still form.

His eyes were open and stared up at the rough hewn ceiling in disbelief. A large piece of what had been the coffin's lid stuck up from his chest, its sharp tip obscenely bloody.

It took a while before Magda realised what she was seeing, but then she let out a wail of frustration. Not yet, not so soon. She wasn't done being annoyed and infatuated with him! Indignantly she kicked his solid rump. "How dare you leave me," she hissed, "after all you put me through!"

Chagal responded by ways of turning to dust.

Well, that was it, then. Alone now. Alone and hungry. Perhaps there would be food at the ball. It pleased her to think that if there was, she wasn't the one serving it.

Magda squared her shoulders and climbed the damp stairs until she reached the crypt. The two large sarcophaguses were open and she couldn't resist peeking in. It was easy to tell which big stone coffin was whose.

The count's was lined with black satin, somber and stylish, like the person she had glimpsed a few times the past couple nights. It was void of all comfort and looked as if the count wanted to punish himself every day by resting in it.

His son's was an entirely different matter. Lace, silk, satin and velvet were so abundant Magda couldn't help but wonder if the young man really was slender enough to actually fit in the small space left. The headpillow was embroidered tastefully yet disturbingly with depictions of bats and demons and she could see at least three books sticking out of the sea of pale pastels.

She shook her head. Nobility. They might as well be a different species for all the strange things they did. But despite her aversy of the richness she couldn't deny she liked the viscount's taste for exquisite fabrics and before she ascended yet another set of stairs she snatched a piece of patterned lavender brocade from the coffin, no bigger than a scarf, trimmed with lace. She wrapped it around her shoulders and felt better, less naked.

The castle was vast and while she could well rely on her acute sense of hearing, it took a while before she found the correct wing. The crash of a door thrust open with such a force it hit the wall was followed by running feet and breathless shouts of encouragement. Caught by surprise Magda froze and watched three figures run past her, all dressed for the ball. In a flash she recognised the face of the girl and she drew her lips back from her fangs.

Sarah.

If not for her, no one involved would be in this position right now. It served her well, being chased from the castle. The bitch.

The hideous creature she'd knew was called Koukol followed the trio at a distance, limping for all he was worth. Magda shook her head at the pitiable sight and proceded towards the ballroom, expecting a party.

A wave of fury hit her, so strong she could actually taste it, prickly and salty on the back of her tongue. The count was bristling and snarling and just a look at his face scared the living daylights out of her. Instantly she understood what had happened, why Sarah was running and who the other two were.

She should have known. It had actually surprised her the little pest went through with her resolve to run away for once, but now she was fleeing back to daddy as fast as she could. The world was too big for Sarah Chagal, too scary. But unbeknownst to the girl there wasn't a daddy anymore to spank her and lock her in her room.

Befuddled vampires pushed past her, staggering back to their graves now their fun was cut short. They reeked of death and Magda recoiled from them, always keeping an eye on the count, who seemed more dangerous than a pack of famined wolves. Obviously he had never been stood up against like this.

The son, dressed in a similar costume as his father but in much different colors, tried to calm the man down. His graceful hands stroked the count's strong fingers and he whispered words in his ear, unheard by Magda but seemingly effective. Slowly the affronted look left the count's eyes and he sagged a little. The young viscount slid an arm around his father's waist and supported him through a different door, out of sight.

Alone again, and still hungry, a hunger that gnawed harder as she smelled blood being spilled in the vast hall. Sarah evidently had not escaped unscathed. A small smile tugged at Magda's lips. Served her right.

However it didn't do anything to quench the thirst raging inside of her and she left the empty ballroom behind, trying to find a way to satisfy her needs. That boy Alfred had looked tasty. Young and inexperienced, but his blood would be as sweet and unsoiled. Even the professor, who had groped her so indecently and had wanted to put a stake through her heart, would do as a donor.

They weren't here, though, not yet anyway. Koukol would probably find them soon enough and drag them back by the scruff of their necks, but until then she'd have to wait or find something else.

Alone with her thoughts she roamed the castle. Once this must have been a place bustling with servants and guests. Magda wondered if she rather would've wanted to serve nobility their exotic foods and drinks than put tankards or bitter beer in front of rude farmers. Nobility would most likely be too civilised to smack her behind in appreciation or leer at her meaningfully.

"Who are you?" a voice demanded.

Magda whirled around and stared at the son. After a moment she remembered to curtsy and cast down her glance. "Magda, your Excellency." The young man looked far less dangerous and brooding than his father, but she didn't want to risk his wrath. Being kicked down a flight a stairs once was more than enough.

"Where did you come from? Were you at the ball? Why haven't I seen you before? Why aren't you dressed properly?"

With each question the demand in his voice made way for genuine curiosity. Magda dared to glance up.

"Chagal brought me here. I… he…" She bared her fangs to convey the message she didn't have words for. "I missed the dance, I'm afraid. That stupid cow cut it short." She snorted contemptuously before she realised to whom she was talking. "Beg pardon, my lord."

He dismissed her apology with a small wave of his longfingered hand. His eyes glittered. "Stupid cow indeed. Father definitely lost his head over this one."

"She tends to have that effect. Flirting with the guests, playing the little innocent girl and get them all riled up, and then Chagal would come in and yell at them, lose money because of it and lock her up in her room again." Magda shook her head. "You should be really glad she's gone, and the count too."

"Father will get over her. He doesn't like being stood up against." The viscount looked down the corridor towards the door. "I hope she won't hurt poor little Alfred…"

She shrugged. "Probably will." She felt sorry for the boy that he got caught up in Sarah's quest for physical gratification without getting any himself. He seemed like a goodhearted lad and perhaps in a different day and age she might've shown him some warmth herself, take away his inexperience.

The young man looked surprised at her reply and she bit her lip. She was addressing a viscount, not the broadshouldered shriner's apprentice with the dimpled cheeks who seemed to be totally at ease talking to her, she should remember that. "My lord, forgive me."

"You are forgiven," he replied distractedly, as if he wasn't even aware of what she was asking forgiveness for. His glance wandered over her body, lingered at her stolen shawl, and she was so prepared to recognise in the honey colored eyes the appreciative lust she was used to that she'd already seen it before realising he looked at her with something she had never seen before in a man's eyes.

"That's mine." He nodded to the piece of fabric around her shoulders.

Horrified she snatched it from her body and held it out to him. She had totally forgotten about the shawl she stole from the coffin. Now he would surely punish her.

When he reached to take it, he gingerly touched her fingers. "Do you like it?" he asked softly.

"I didn't mean to steal it, my lord. I was cold and…"

"Do you like it," he asked again.

Dumbly she nodded.

"Keep it, then. It suits you." He still took it from her grasp and arranged it around her shoulders once again. Then he stepped back and cocked his head, appraising the sight. He gave a satisfied nod. "It definitely suits you, Magda."

Magda knew she wasn't ugly, but despite all the inn's patrons, she had never felt beautiful under a man's gaze. Until now. Unsure of how to deal with the situation she looked back at him without moving.

Something in his face seem to light up and he curled his fingers around her wrist in an iron grip. "Come!" he said excitedly and proceeded by dragging her with him. "I want to show you something."

It took a couple steps before she regained her footing and a few more before she understood there was no way she could free herself from his grip. "I don't want to see your 'something'," she said icily, not caring if he was prince or peasant. He shouldn't think he could do whatever he pleased because his daddy was a count and her daddy was… God knew who her daddy was.

He halted so abruptly she crashed ungraciously into him. This time she did not beg forgiveness, she just looked up at him defiantly.

"You don't even know what it is I want to show you," he said indignantly.

"I've seen a lot of men and they only want to show one thing. It's definitely not as special as you think, they all look the same."

"What are you tal… oh. Oooh." He pulled back his hand like she'd burned him and repulsion settled on his face. "That is not what I meant."

Even though he was a nice-looking young man (it fell hard upon her to call him beautiful, but that was what he was, with his shiny blonde hair and his flawless features) she had had no desire to give in to the undoubtedly extravagant wishes. However, his making more than clear that the idea of bestowing those wishes upon her revolted him hurt her pride. It was far more satisfying, however annoying, to decline avances than to not be avanced at.

"Besides," he added drily, "they definitely don't all look the same."

"How would you know?" she snapped, still wounded.

"I've seen more than you." He looked smug when he said that and it finally dawned on her.

"Oh," was all she could muster.

"Yes. So, if you would be so kind, I still want to show you something."

Without thinking about it she nodded and followed him, looking at the slight and gracious body in front of her with a sort of wonder. She knew it was wrong and all, but so was being a bloodsucking vampire and it didn't seem to hinder him much. Judging by his swagger he was proud and confident, and yes, now she knew she could see his curiously effeminate side, which she had pinned on being an eccentric nobleman at first.

He opened a door and like a true gentleman let her go first. It was dark without candles and with shuttered windows, but still she could make out shapes of thicker darkness. A sofa, chairs, a chest of some sort. She wondered whose chambers these used to be.

"Light," he said and whistled like someone would whistle for a dog.

Magda half expected a huge wolf to come running, but nothing happened.

"Damn Koukol," the young man muttered. "He should have been back by now…"

All Sarah's fault, Magda thought while she watched the pretty boy light candle after candle, until their brightness started to hurt her eyes.

"Wait here." He vanished through another door and re-emerged a moment later with a bundle of fabric in his arms. Unceremoniously he thrust it at her. "Try this on."

Only after she unfolded the cloth Magda realised it was a dress, and a very beautiful one at that. Made of creamy silk and other fabrics she didn't have a name for, with a voluminous skirt and an intricately fashioned bodice.

"It is beautiful," she stammered. Never in her life had she even seen something like this, let alone held it.

"I know," was the impatient reply. "Try it on, please, I want to know how it looks on a woman's body."

Despite her astonishment she looked up, frowning, but decided she didn't want to know. Carefully she put the dress down on the sofa and then waited until he left so she could change.

He didn't look like he was going to. "What are you waiting for?"

"For you to leave…" she said slowly, as if he was dim-witted. "Sir," she added to take the sting from her words.

"Why? I want to see what it looks like, I'm not going to leave. Do you need help?" He stepped forward, hand extended, and she stepped back.

"I can manage on my own, thank you very much."

"Girl," he sighed, "you are a piece of work." With that he turned around demonstratively.

She took it as a compliment, also because in his voice a hint of approval had vibrated. Still keeping an eye on him to make sure he wouldn't peek, she stripped down to her underwear. Then she looked at the dress and realised that there was no way she could put that on without help.

"My lord?" she said in a small voice.

He turned around and yelped like a puppy caught across the nose by a pissy tomcat. "You're not dressed yet!" he said accusingly as he averted his eyes. Not out of decency – she had seen the expression in the glittering amber. He definitely did not fancy women. At all.

"I need help."

He muttered an incomprehensable curse under his breath and gave a resigned sigh. "Well, all right. Turn around."

Because he kept his eyes shut and tried to avoid touching the bare skin of her upper body he was more of a hindrance than a help, but eventually she was wearing the dress like she was supposed to. It fit wonderfully well, almost as if it was made for her. A little snug in the chest-department and the hem of the skirt didn't quite reach the ground like it should, but it felt glorious to wear it.

Eagerly she looked around for a mirror. There was a large one in the dressing room and she hurried over to observe her radiant glory.

The empty mirror greeted her cruelly. Speechless she whirled around to confront the viscount and found he was already standing next to her, equally invisible in the mirror.

"What is this?" she demanded, angry because of her fear.

"This is our being vampires." He shrugged. "One of the less pleasant side effects. But believe me if I say you look absolutely stunning."

Magda thought she heard a faint sense of longing in his voice and she looked him in the eyes. "So do you," she said tenderly.

His face broke open in a genuine elated smile, only slightly spoiled by his fangs, and in that moment he looked beautiful as well as adorable. "Thank you," he said as he grasped her hands and put them to his breast.

"Too bad the ball is over," Magda mused with a small chuckle.

It pleased her that he swept her up in a dance right away. Not because she enjoyed dancing, but because she had expected this reaction. She was starting to get to know him.

Without music it was not the same, but the viscount persisted and Magda followed, unable to escape from his steelfingered grip. "Do you dance with women often?" she wondered out loud.

"Never." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Daddy will be so pleased if he hears this."

"Does he not approve?" Stupid question. A nobleman's only son, of course the count didn't approve.

"It doesn't bother him as much as it used to. After three hundred years, very few things do."

She blinked. "I had no idea…" Suddenly she was scared. Would her life drag on and on forever as well, watching the centuries go by until nothing bothered her anymore?

The viscount held still and looked her in the eyes. He was a head taller than her and lifted up her chin so he wouldn't have to stoop. "It'll be fabulous," he promised.

She believed him.


End file.
